


Recovery and Retrieval

by noOneOfConcequence



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fiddleford Appreciation Month, Gen, Introspection, Memories, PTSD, Recovery, Regaining Memories, Week 2: Recovery, computer repair, the laptop - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 19:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10315697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noOneOfConcequence/pseuds/noOneOfConcequence
Summary: Recovery comes in multiple forms as McGucket works on fixing his old laptop.For week 2 of the Fiddleford Appreciation Month. Set between Society of the Blind Eye and Northwest Mansion Mystery.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little late, but here's my contribution to Week 2 of Fiddleford Appreciation Month. Huge thanks to Dan and all the wonderful people who are orchestrating the event and helped inspire me to start writing again! 
> 
> Please note that I have not read Journal 3, so what happens in this story might not be compliant with that canon.

“You nab-smackin’, corn-swadlin’ – that’s right, get on! Get!”

Rusty metal and old bottles clattered to the side as McGucket chased a possum down the side of the junk pile. A can dropped from the possum’s mouth as it darted under the frame of an old truck. McGucket kicked the dirt and gave a shout for good measure. Dump diving was an important part of the day- McGucket found all sorts of do-dads and whatsits in the towering piles around his home. And he certainly wasn’t gonna let some two-bit varmint try to charm its way into his treasures.

The old man bent down and gingerly picked up the can, adding it to the other items tucked in his arm. He’d managed to scrounge up a rusty butter knife, a rubber boot, and old wire hanger, and a half-eaten can of beans. Not a terrible run, but he had to admit pickings were getting a little slim. He could probably find more if he branched out to the piles on the further end of the dump. But he liked to stay in sight of his shack while he worked. That way, if anyone stopped by to visit, he’d be sure to see ‘em.

But he’d done enough dump diving for now- the evening was young and there was so much left to do.

Cradling his load, he scurried across the junkyard and into the shack tucked away among the piles of trash. The inside was just as cluttered as the outside, filled to the brim with torn up cars parts and broken pipes and a slew of other items he’d at some point decided were worth trekking home with him. The only semblance of organization was in the center of the shack, where several items had been shoved to the side to make room for McGucket’s latest project: a computer. His old computer, to be exact.

It was in a funny state, that computer. Pieces of hardware poked out of it at odd angles. The top and the bottom of the computer were snapped apart, connected by a few thin wires. The screen was covered a thick web of cracks, and the keyboard had more gaps in it than McGucket’s own toothy smile.

Despite all of that, the computer was doing much better than it had been just a week before. Nowadays its memory cards spent more time inside it than out. Most of the pieces were connected together in some way. He could even power it up, and, on a good day, it could run a few of the old programs and calculations loaded into it. Sure, it still had a long way to go. But that’s why he was here now.

McGucket squatted down in front of the laptop, dropping his load onto the ground next to him. After he had donned a pair of green-tinted glasses that always sat near the computer, he began to examine each item more carefully. First was the boot. He flipped it over, where a piece of gum was stuck to the bottom of it. He pried the gum off with the butter knife, working it in his hand for a few moments before wrapping it around two pieces of wire in the computer. He could repurpose the rest of the boot for parts later- Insulating material like rubber came in mighty handy when dealing with electronics. 

Next, he reached for the pair of pliers and began unraveling the wire hanger. He then balanced the screen and the base of the computer in the crook of his lap, carefully securing the wire along the casing before twisting it around the hinges of the device for reinforcement. He tilted the screen gingerly upward before moving his hand away slightly. the screen stayed in place. McGucket smiled – it wasn’t a permeant fix, but at least the old thing could keep its head up now.

He gave the can of beans an experimental sniff before setting it aside. Once it was empty, he could use it to hold nails and screws – goodness knows the cans holding them now had long since started to overflow. In the meantime, he had half a can of beans to look forward to. Food was food, after all.

For the next couple of hours he tinkered with the computer, inspecting the hardware through the green of his glasses and trading out various tools and gadgets. He fiddled with the graphics card, connected a few more loose wires, replaced the screen with a glass pane he’d scavenged from a car a few days earlier. There was a funny sort of serenity to it, working on the computer. It felt like no matter how bad his mind got, these wires and screws and circuitry would make sense. He might not have been able to explain exactly what he was doing or remember where he had learned it, but his work was rooted in a rare sense of familiarity and certainty. Maybe it was because he really didn’t need to think about it much. Or maybe it was just the last thing to go in his funny ol’ brain. Either way, he was grateful for it.

McGucket finally set the laptop down, pressing down on the red power switch. The screen flickered white a few times. A segmented loading bar began to creep across the screen, a handful of red squares flashing among the line of green. Finally the bar morphed into a swirl of circles and squares before transforming into the login screen. McGucket whooped, his mouth widening into a toothy grin. The computer only took six minutes to boot up, and this time it even managed to show the opening animation before the login screen. They were making good progress!

McGucket pulled the computer into his lap. He didn’t need to think about the password - in fact, it helped if he didn’t. He just placed his hands on the keyboard and started typing. His fingers seemed to know where the right keys were as easily as if they had tapped on them a hundred times before. S-T-A-N-F-O-R-D. The entire screen flashed green for a moment before blinking into a series of files and hypertexts.

Fiddleford watched as the pale afterimage of the password faded from the screen. S-T-A-N-F-O-R-D. Stanford. Why Stanford? He had racked his brain to figure out what the significance of the word was, scanned through dozens of files on the computer for it. But whatever ‘Stanford’ meant, McGucket must’ve really wanted to forget it. The best he could figure was that it was the name of someone, judging from what he could find on the computer. But of the townsfolk McGucket knew nowadays, the only name that came close to that was Stan, the funny guy who ran the Mystery Shack. It was true that was something awful familiar about that man. He might’ve even introduced himself as Stanford at some point…

_He’s lying. That’s not Stanford._

It always happened so suddenly; He would reached into his memories, only to have something grab him and pull him in. His house, the computer – they might as well have been in another dimension. McGucket's entire body when rigid. Hellish vision encircled him, dredged up from some of the most broken places in his mind. All the while the words writhed around him like a white-hot chain, reciting the same sickening train of thought. _Not Stanford not Stanford not Stanford_ -

He was somewhere dark, cold. A man – a thing - had its back to him. It slowly turned its head, its neck coiling around itself as the rest of its body remained perfectly still. Its eyes met Fiddleford’s, a familiar face darkening with cold loathing before shifting and bulging into a familiar monster. It wasn’t Stanford. It wasn’t even human. And he was alone with it.

_-Shouldn’t have followed him shouldn’t have trusted him oh God oh God-_

The same nightmare he always had when he resolved to voice his concerns about the project. His friend’s face was twisted in outrage, his six-fingered hands clenched into fists. How could Fiddleford betray him like this, he shouted. He was supposed to be able to trust Fiddleford. Traitor, his friend called him. Cowardly, small-minded, pathetic. Fiddleford would awake trembling, trying to convince himself it was just a dream, just a dream. ~~~~

_-Stanford wouldn’t do that Stanford wouldn’t say that Stanford wouldn’t think that-_

A figure blocked Fiddleford’s exit. A smile too wide, eyes that glinted yellow. The figure slung an arm over Fiddleford’s shoulder, wheeling him away from the wooden staircase and deeper into the basement. They had been meditating, the figure explained. Fiddleford shouldn’t have interrupted; he knew better. Fiddleford tried to mutter an excuse, tried to duck away, tried to leave. The figure’s arm held him in place. What was the rush, specs? He must've really wanted the figure's attention- well, now he had it. Besides, they were due for a chat, just the two of them.

_-yellow eyes wicked eyes run hide get away-_

A man wearing filthy jacket a strained smile stood in front of him. Yup, Stanford Pines, he said. Brainiac who lives in the woods- that’s me, alright. Fiddleford looked him up and down. Wrong voice. Wrong gestures. Wrong eyes. The man extended a hand to him. Fiddleford screamed.

…He was screaming again, he realized. Bit by bit the real world began returning back to him.  He was dimly aware that he was now huddled against the wall, a few feet away from the computer. He felt a stinging sensation on his chin, and realized a moment later that his hands were grasping and tugging at fistfuls of his beard. His slowly loosened his grip, forcing himself to breathe and get up and go back to the computer. He must’ve dropped it during all the ruckus- the screen flickered, distorting words into unintelligible streaks. His finger still trembled slightly as he shut it off.

This wasn’t the first time this’d happened. He’d accepted that healing was going to be painful, and that digging around in his mind was bound to drag up some difficult stuff.  But it was so hard to tell what would set him off. He had thought about that Stan fellow before without causing any sort of reaction. Sometimes he would read entire passages from the computer and not feel anything. But then he’d see a picture, or read a passing comment, or hear a sudden sound, and the thoughts would flare up as if from nowhere. Then they’d run their course and leave behind pieces of memories, vibrant splotches in a sea of haze.

McGucket stared at the blank computer screen, his eyes tracing the dents and rust on the frame around it. So many pieces, so much work. There was so much left to do.

The computer shifted slightly- McGucket could see a dim silhouette of himself reflected in the dark glass. It was funny – as his memories started coming back, he wasn’t just learning about what happened to him. He was also learning about who he used to be, before the Blind Eye and all that. He was a big ol’ bundle of nerves, even back then. Afraid of being hurt. Afraid of people hating him, or leaving him. Afraid of the unknown. That fear seemed to permeate everything Fiddleford did- or didn’t do, more often.

Guess it didn’t matter in the end. McGucket lived alone in the dump. Most of the town, even his own family, regarded him with disgust or pity or suspicion. The unknown had broken him in every way he feared, in ways he couldn’t have possibly imagined. And all that worrying didn’t keep what was gonna happen from happening.

But he was still here. He had lived through it. Sure, it hurt. It hurt like the dickens when he thought about the family he’d lost, or the things he’d seen, or the person he’d become. But it wasn’t all bad. He still felt happy, sometimes. He still cared about people, even if it wasn’t always reciprocated. And even now, there were still people who reached out to him –people like the Pines twins, who helped him get his memories back and start to heal in the first place. Sure, McGucket was broken, but he kept moving forward. He’d keep moving, even though the worst of it. He bet his younger self would be surprised to hear that.

And besides – maybe now that he had nothing to lose, he wouldn’t have to spend so much time fretting over losing it. He could start doing the things he used to be so scared to do -the things he should’ve done in the first place. Facing his memories head-on was a good start.

He pulled the computer towards him, popping open the bottom of it. It didn’t look too bad – there was a new dent on the outside, but mostly the graphics card had just been jostled around a bit. He gingerly put it back in its place before snapping the bottom of the computer shut and switching the red power button again. The screen flickered back on, the green text of the start-up screen as clear as ever.

 “Ye-haw! Ain’t gonna let no little bump keep you down for long, huh?” Fiddleford beamed at the computer. His expression softened, and he placed a hand gently on the frame. The computer had been crushed, and then stitched back together with junk and garbage. It would never be the same as how it used to be. But, if he kept working on it, might just be some good to somebody. He adjusted his glasses, typed in his password, and clicked one of the files.

There was so much left to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this- if you notice any inaccuracies (whether in GF lore, PTSD symtoms, computer repair, etc), please let me know in the comments! Or just let me know what you think! Have a great day!


End file.
